


nothing hurts like your mouth

by orphan_account



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blowjobs, Brief discussion of Cisco/imaginary lady, Cisco Is A Subby Sub Who Likes To Sub, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Eobard Is A Bad Man, Eobard Is A Possessive Dick, F/M, Hartley Can't Have Nice Things, Jealousy, M/M, PWP, Please heed tags and notes, Possessiveness, Power Dynamics, Pre-Series, Under-negotiated Kink, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:11:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10580520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Um,” is all Cisco can murmur as Hartley rushes to pull up his pants. Cisco wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand before offering his most guileless smile. “We were… researching?”Or: Eobard walks in on Cisco giving Hartley head in the lab and decides to show Cisco there are better things he can do with his mouth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The dubious consent tag applies to the fact that Cisco does not know Eobard is masquerading as Dr. Harrison Wells and there is no clear or fair discussion of BDSM, power play, or any other kinks. Please read and heed all tags and warnings. Possessive Eobard is a warning all by himself.

It starts, like most things that have gotten Cisco in trouble through his life, with a hypothesis.

 

Being nice to Hartley will lead to an exponential decrease in his bitchiness. A less bitchy Hartley will lead to a more enjoyable work environment and, by extension, a more enjoyable life for Cisco.

 

The experiments begin simply enough. A genuine greeting in the morning. Freer and more friendly smiles. Offering from his personal candy stash. Not rising to the bait of sneered, vile comments hurled only to boil his blood.

 

The last trial is easier designed than executed, but in the end, their battle of insults is what leads Cisco to the penultimate breakthrough to Hartley’s vicious exterior.

 

Apparently, it only takes a few licks of Hartley’s hard cock to reach his softer, more human center.

 

This is how Dr. Wells finds them.

 

-

 

“ _Ciscquito_.” Hartley is panting, as if it’s a term of endearment; maybe to Hartley it is, at least now, with Cisco kneeling between his legs. Cisco lets it go for now, focusing on the gentle shivers Hartley is raking through his hair and on pulling more guttural moans into the air. “You’re – _good_ , so good – ”

 

Hartley is so much more pleasant like this. Groaning, petting Cisco with warm fingers, not pushing or pulling or preening with blue blooded cruelty. He’s not even trying to control the speed, not holding Cisco’s head with biting hands or trying to fuck his throat raw. No desire to hurt thrumming beneath the skin that’s heavy on Cisco’s tongue.

 

If this is all Cisco has to do to shut Hartley’s mouth up and cruelty down, his next paycheck will go to investing in some throat spray and knee pads.

 

Cisco brings his hands to Hartley’s thighs, stroking, as he slides down and back up in one smooth stroke. His own dick, tight and full, twitches with the feel and taste of it. He’s missed this, he realizes. It’s been over a year since he’s been on his knees for a man, for anyone, and he’s always enjoyed it. Not as much as being on the receiving end, but giving pleasure, drawing moans and his name in that breathy, needy, reverent way from another mouth, is a pleasure all in its own. The heavy feeling of flesh, soft and hard and hot, the weight on his tongue, the burn of his lips and jaw being stretched, the smell, makes his stomach and groin tight with heat. Taking a man in to the hilt, bumping his nose on coarse hair, grazing his chin on the swell of balls, warms the synapses of his thrumming brain into a muggy, gentle tide.

 

It's more than the physicality, though – more than the full-bodied lust, the mind melting heat. Being wanted, being praised, being _enough_ , plants a deep warmth in his chest and spreads it, bright and hot, through his entire body. It slakes him through his skin, blood, muscle; his _bones_ vibrate with the sheer pleasure of being _good_.

 

Hartley’s fingers, buried in Cisco’s hair and sunk into the flesh of Cisco’s cheek, tremor, then flex, then scramble slippery with the sweat and damp desire of the room. He murmurs something, dirty and awed, and Cisco’s stomach flips, cock bobs.

 

“On you,” Hartley says. Cisco gives an absently deep, hollow cheeked suck before sliding down, swirling his tongue around the head. Mouth soft over Hartley’s slit, he opens his eyes. Hartley’s pupils are blown, all the evil seeming to have drained away, and he looks for the first time as young as he is. Open and vulnerable, flushed with blood and humanity. Cisco blinks. Hartley repeats, thumb rubbing Cisco’s cheek bone, “On you.”

 

Cisco’s past drunk on the taste of dick and the rush of getting Hartley to soften his defenses, so it takes several moments for him to realize what Hartley is asking. Demanding, really, but with no bite or aggressiveness.

 

Hartley wants to come on his face. Huh.

 

Before he can answer, dive back in with a few final sucks and deny Hartley this dominance or rub his cheek against the head, let Hartley soak his skin, Hartley jerks. The hand that was gentle on his cheek pushes his face away, knocks him out of orbit, and the mouth that had been leaking awed pants releases a pained noise.

 

“Dr. Wells.”

 

Anger vibrates Cisco’s body. He’s been giving Hartley what he can only assume is the best head the jerk has ever gotten, and he’s been thinking of Dr. Wells? Rage grips his tongue before he hears the unmistakable clearing of Dr. Wells throat.

 

Cisco wonders if it’s possible to die of embarrassment as he cranes his neck to see Dr. Wells standing in the door.

 

“Um,” is all Cisco can murmur as Hartley rushes to pull up his pants. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand before offering his most guileless smile. “We were… researching?”

 

There’s nothing for a frozen moment that feels like lifetimes. No one speaks or moves or even breathes, and Cisco thinks maybe, hopefully, the earth will open and swallow him whole.

 

“My office,” Dr. Wells bites, and Cisco releases his breath. Dr. Wells turns briskly before Cisco can get back to his feet.

 

-

 

Cisco and Hartley sit as Dr. Wells stands at his desk, glaring at each of them with disapproval. He thinks of when he was 15 and Dante caught him making out with their third cousin, Maria, with the moles. How young and naive he was to think the most embarrassing moment of his life had already happened.

 

“I don’t need to explain how inappropriate and disrespectful that was, right?”

 

“No,” Cisco says, cheeks flaming, just as Hartley whines, “It wasn’t my fault.”

 

Cisco turns disbelieving eyes on him. “ _Excuse_ me?”

 

Hartley continues, gaze never wavering from Dr. Wells. “He _seduced_ me.”

 

“I seduced – I did not _seduce_ you. If I remember correctly, which I do because I didn’t just have my brain sucked out of my dick, _you_ were the one who dared me to do something _useful_ with my mouth – ”

 

“I did not mean _that_ ,” Hartley says, finally deigning to cut him with a withering look. “You practically forced – ”

 

“Enough.” Dr. Wells says sharply, shutting Cisco and Hartley up immediately. “You’re both adults. You both take full responsibility.” He moves from his desk, closer to both of them, and in the corner of his eye Cisco sees Hartley stiffening and pushing himself back in his chair. Cisco mirrors his movements, Dr. Wells looks both disappointed _and_ pissed, and it’s much scarier than he ever imagined Dr. Wells could be. “If you _ever_ engage in anything like that again, you’re both fired. Immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Dr. Wells, it wasn’t my – ”

 

Dr. Wells leans into Hartley’s personal space. His voice is clear and mechanical and even more terrifying than before. “Do I make myself clear, Mr. Rathaway?”

 

For all of Hartley’s bark, he keeps his bite in check. “Yes, Dr. Wells.”

 

“Good.” Dr. Wells snaps straight, takes a step back. “I’ll see you Friday morning, Mr. Rathaway.”

 

“Friday? But it’s – ”

 

“A two-day suspension should be adequate time to reflect on your errors here today. Unless you think you need more time?”

 

“No.” Hartley glances at Cisco, who quickly looks away. Cisco hears his barely restrained noise of frustration. “No, Dr. Wells. That will be adequate.”

 

Hartley leaves with little ceremony or drama. Cisco shifts in his seat. Several beats of silence pass, and Cisco dares to meet Dr. Wells gaze. He knows he should say something, apologize for desecrating their shared sacred work space, but his ability to speak has seized and floated away.

 

“I meant it when I said I didn’t want any explanation,” Dr. Wells says. Cisco realizes his mouth is open, and shuts it. “You’re free to leave now, Mr. Ramon. I’ll see you next Friday.”

 

“Right. Ok. Sorry, uh, sorry again,” Cisco says, although he hasn’t apologized a first time. He’s ready to stand and leave when Dr. Well’s words click. “Um. I’m sorry. Did you say _next_ Friday?”

 

“Yes.”

“That’s over a week. That’s not – ”

 

“Fair?” Dr. Wells supplies. “You’re not really in a position to decide what’s fair, Mr. Ramon.”

 

“But.” Cisco opens and closes his mouth, performing his best impression of a very confused flounder. “You said we were both responsible and – and he _started_ it.”

 

“You are both responsible,” Dr. Wells agrees. “But let’s be realistic, Mr. Ramon. Hartley was not exactly in the same position.”

 

“He could’ve said _no_ ,” Cisco sputters. Dr. Wells gives him A Look, pointed and speaking volumes in a language Cisco doesn’t understand. “He could’ve! Plus, he – he baited me.” Cisco almost adds it was Hartley who did the seducing, but that would reduce him to a man seduced by Hartley Rathaway. Cisco slumps in his chair and runs his hands through his hair.

 

Dr. Wells simply watches him as he freaks the fuck out, the days events up to this point finally catching up to him. He sucked Hartley’s dick. He’s suspended from the coolest, best job ever for sucking Hartley’s Dick. Dr. Wells _saw_ him sucking Hartley’s dick.

 

“Mr. Ramon,” Dr. Wells says. He sounds distant and why for the love of all things holy did Cisco think it was a good idea to suck Hartley’s dick? “Cisco. Calm down. Close your eyes and breathe.”

 

Cisco tries to obey, but the pure injustice of the situation is still rippling under his skin. “He could’ve,” Cisco repeats, mostly as a reminder to himself that Hartley is a dick and Dr. Wells has morphed into some unreasonable jerk.

 

“I would like you to do an exercise for me. I believe it will help you understand both your and Hartley’s responsibility in this situation.”

 

Cisco _knows_ their responsibility – this is all Hartley’s fault – but he doesn’t argue. If he goes along with this exercise, maybe Dr. Wells will forgive Cisco for what was clearly a lapse in sanity and allow him to be back in the office within two days.

 

“First, and please correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve seen you with people in the office. I assume, with instances like this evening still in consideration, you prefer women?”

 

Cisco swallows, nervous, but nods. He does, but nerdy guys are typically more desperate and, thus, more available.

 

“Thank you, Cisco. Now. I’d like you to imagine you work with a woman.”

 

 “I work with lots of women – ”

 

“Close your mouth, Cisco. Close your eyes and your mouth and listen.” Cisco does. “Now. Imagine this woman. She’s around your age, and she’s just as smart as you. Maybe smarter. Maybe smarter than most of the people you’ve ever known, and to top it off, she’s beautiful.”

 

Cisco is breathing evenly, trying to focus on Dr. Wells voice and not the strange twisting in his stomach.

 

“Her skin,” Dr. Wells continues, and the hair on Cisco’s arms stand because suddenly Dr. Wells voice is closer, deeper. “Her skin is so smooth, Cisco. Golden and butter soft and when she moves, sometimes, you see the jut of her collar bone, her hip bone. You know all that soft skin would be warm to the touch.”

 

Cisco swallows, hard, suddenly warm and teetering in his chair. He can barely hear Dr. Wells moving closer over the blood pounding in his ears.

 

“Her hair is ebony. It falls just to her collar, always calling attention to how supple she is there. You know it’s soft and when you’re close, it smells sweet.”

 

Dr. Wells must be walking around him. The volume of his voice goes in and out but stays smooth. It rolls over Cisco’s skin, dips into his stomach, and turning the warmth that’s growing there into something hot.

 

“She always smells sweet. So sweet, Cisco, and so soft. But all of it – her mind, her body, her beauty – all of that temptation could be ignored. Relegated to little fantasies you keep tucked inside, don’t even indulge in on a late night when all the research and data has scrambled your brain, if it wasn’t for one thing.”

 

Cisco doesn’t realize he’s getting hard until he feels Dr. Wells breathe against his cheek. He startles, nearly shooting out of his skin, but Dr. Wells hands settle on his shoulders, tethering him to his body and the ground.

 

His heart is still about to shake loose from his chest. He wants to say something, to ask if what he thinks is happening is really happening, but he loses his words when Dr. Wells leans in and breathes, hot and unbearably soft, right against the shell of Cisco’s ear. “Her _mouth_.”

 

Cisco makes a noise, something pitiful and whimpering that he’s never made before. Then Dr. Wells rests his forehead against Cisco’s, bringing his lips close to Cisco’s skin, and Cisco can’t move.

 

“This mouth, Cisco – it’s _obscene_.”

 

Cisco makes another soft, high noise as his cock throbs to Dr. Wells words. “Her lips are so full, her mouth is so plush, so fucking wet – ” And Cisco _gasps_ , because he’s never heard Dr. Wells curse before, and he would wonder if this actually is Dr. Wells and not some evil, cruel imposter if he could think past the ache in his groin. “ – and so red. You know it would be velvet soft and fire hot and it _hurts_ , Cisco, to think about how good it would feel. On your own mouth. On your skin. On your neck,” Dr. Wells does move his lips over Cisco’s neck then, sending visceral shivers that vibrate from Cisco’s throat to his toes and settle in his dick.

 

The sensation is so bone deep Cisco wants to cry or run. The urge to beg again, to plead for any kind of mercy, rises violently to the surface. Cisco bites his lip because he isn’t sure if he’ll plead with Dr. Wells to stop talking, stop touching, or for _more_.

 

“She always has her mouth full,” Dr. Wells is murmuring, lips drifting back to the shell of Cisco’s ear. “She has this oral fixation that feels personally targeted to torture you, because she has these suckers. You see how her lips stretch around the candy and think about how they would stretch around your dick.”

 

Cisco’s hands are gripping the arms of the chair. He’s dizzy and overheated and thinks he’s going to fall from the chair through the earth itself. The tip of Dr. Wells nose is warm in the juncture of Cisco’s neck and his mouth is soft and hot, hovering over Cisco’s shoulder. Cisco wants to shred his button up and t-shirt to pieces, obliterate the barrier between Dr. Wells cruel mouth and Cisco’s heated skin.

 

“And she talks to you, that lush, made to suck your cock mouth red and sticky and sweet, like she has no idea it’s taking every ounce of your self-control not to push her to her knees and fill her the way she’s practically begging to be filled.”

 

The heat is overwhelming, and Cisco is shifting in his seat, seeking relief from the oppressive air. Even as he takes deep breath after deep breath, his lungs can’t fill, the oxygen too hot and miserable. Every movement pulls the stretch of his corduroys over his full cock, the barest tease of friction that’s so delicious Cisco could cry. He almost thinks he could come, if Dr. Wells keeps talking, keeps breathing so summer warm against his skin.

 

“Can you see her, Cisco? Can you see that mouth? Can you _taste_ it?”

 

Cisco can’t answer with words, only a pathetic whimper, but it seems to be enough for Dr. Wells, who tortuously, thankfully, continues.

 

“Now imagine her on her knees, right in front of you.” Dr. Wells mouth is moving over Cisco’s pulse point, no longer impossibly soft, no longer a tease, but solid and sturdy and so hot Cisco bucks into the air, seeking contact against his leaking dick. Dr. Wells ignores how pitiful Cisco is, practically humping at nothing, and lets his tongue flick Cisco’s neck. “She’s asking, so sweetly, if she can please, please suck your cock. She’s begging you please, Cisco, _please_ , fuck my mouth.”

 

Then there are _teeth_ , the barest, feather light of hints of teeth, but _there_ and _wet_. Cisco is _wet_ , his skin damp and his cock leaking, all from Dr. Wells mouth. Cisco squeezes his legs together.

 

“Do you do it, Cisco? She’s asking so sweet and she’s been teasing you for so long and she’s saying let me suck you off, let me taste your cock. What do you say?”

 

Cisco can’t say. He can’t _move_.

 

“What do you _do_ , Cisco? Do you fuck that wet, pretty mouth? Do you take what’s been driving you crazy for months? Do you say you’re going to fuck that hot little throat? Do you say you’re going to choke her on your cock? What do you say? What do you _say_ , Cisco?”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Cisco says, and there are tears in his eyes and drool on his chin. “Please, please, I – yes, _please_.”

 

His hand is moving towards his crotch. He’s so out of it, strung so high and flimsy on Dr. Wells words and voice that he can’t tell himself to stop.

 

Suddenly he’s caught. He makes a noise when Dr. Wells hand wraps around his wrist, quick as lightning it seems, and pushes his hand into his thigh. Cisco flexes his hand but doesn’t really try to dislodge Dr. Wells grip. His hips cant upwards, can’t stop, because his body has caught up to the pressure of Dr. Walls skin on his skin, Dr. Wells body on his body.

 

Dr. Wells, still directly behind him, traps his other hand in a mirroring prison. His palms are sweating on the top of his thighs as Dr. Wells leans his weight forward, increasing the pressure and Cisco’s desperation.

 

“Of course you do,” Dr. Wells says, voice still low but no longer directly against his skin. Cisco _aches_ at the loss of contact. “Now you see why Mr. Rathaway can’t be held completely responsible for his actions?”

 

Cisco shakes his head. “I – _what_?” Betrayal and frustration and sheer shame seize Cisco, sharp hooks of it all hot in his muscles. “It wasn’t like that. I’m not like that.”

 

Dr. Wells chuckles, and it’s a darker noise than Cisco has heard in this universe. It rattles his bones and strokes another hard throb in his cock.

 

“Aren’t you, Cisco? You’re brilliant. You’re so bright and I can’t believe S.T.A.R. Labs was able to find a mind as fine as yours.” Cisco thrums at the praise, and it deepens his desire, his hunger, his ache. Dr. Wells noses at his cheek. “And you’re a cock tease.”

 

“I’m _not_ – ” Cisco is almost sobbing, so turned on and embarrassed and pleased and confused. This is too much for his body and his mind, no mater how brilliant Dr. Harrison freaking Wells says it is, to handle.

 

“Come on, now. You’re always slurping something.” Dr. Wells takes a deep exhale, rubs his cheek against Cisco’s neck. Cisco tilts his head, offers himself freely and desperately. “Always _sucking_ something. Always taunting with what your smart, pretty mouth can do. How could you expect Hartley to turn down a chance to fuck it?”

 

Mind still in the centrifuge of _Dr. Harrison freaking Wells_ telling him he had a _pretty mouth_ , Cisco finds himself unable to respond or rebut.

 

“Why else would you have offered it to _Hartley_ , of all people?”

 

There’s a distinct current of disgust in Dr. Wells voice, and Cisco withers at the thought that disgust is directed at him. His cock, undeterred, twitches.

 

“Were you just that hard up for it, Cisco? Did you need a cock so badly you were willing to take the first one you knew you could have? Are you just that desperate?”

 

Cisco wants to say he’s not some sad, hungry little cock slut. He wants to yell and fight and curse Dr. Wells accusation. He wants to quit and walk away with whatever dignity he has because throughout his life he’s been the victim of countless cruelty but never anything so shattering as his idol calling him a whore.

 

Before he can defend himself or reclaim any semblance of his honor back, Dr. Wells nips at his ear, and all Cisco can do is whimper, “ _Yes_.”

 

Dr. Wells hums in his ear. “Poor Cisco,” he says, and his pity colors Cisco with as much shame as need. “Poor clever, pretty Cisco. You shouldn’t ever be so desperate as to lower yourself to _that_. Especially in my labs.”

 

“I’m _sorry_ – ”

 

“I know, Cisco. I know you are. But as I said: you’re responsible, and you have to feel the consequences of your actions.”

 

Cisco whimpers. He wants to ask if he can at least come before he has to face those consequences, but then Dr. Wells releases the hold of his hands and he nearly tumbles forward.

 

“I’m sorry,” Cisco repeats. He’s still hard, still hungry and aching to be filled, but the urgency of his desperation is subsiding. He can’t look at Dr. Wells. “Is there anything – I mean, anything else I can do? To show you how sorry I am.”

 

“I suppose I could allow you to come back to work at the same time as Hartley,” Dr. Wells says lightly, as if he doesn’t hold the entirety of Cisco’s life in his hands. “If you agree to some conditions.”

 

“Yes,” Cisco says automatically, because it doesn’t matter what the conditions are. If Dr. Wells wants him to crawl on his hands and knees and beg forgiveness, lick his shoes, do his dry cleaning for a year and suck him off every morning and night, Cisco will say yes. Right now, dizzy and aching and starving like he never has been in his life, Cisco will say yes and mean it.

 

“You shouldn’t agree before you’ve even heard the conditions,” Dr. Wells says, but he sounds pleased. Cisco feels his chest expand and fill with light. “But since you already have.”

 

Dr. Wells moves to kneel in front of him. Cisco’s vision is blurred with want and gossamer, but he swears he saw the hint of a bulge in Dr. Wells black trousers. His mouth waters and his throat feels dry and he nearly topples to his knees. All he can imagine is mouthing at that hot bulge, lapping and nipping to show Dr. Wells he’s worthy of the entire length down his throat.

 

Dr. Wells palms settle on his knees, keeping him still, and Cisco struggles to keep his gaze on Dr. Wells face instead of on his crotch.

 

“Condition number one,” Dr. Wells is saying, sounding distant and too far away. Or maybe it’s Cisco, barely tethered to his desperate thing of a body by Dr. Wells touch. “You never touch Hartley again.”

 

“Never,” Cisco agrees quickly.

 

Dr. Wells smiles, tight and small but sincere. Pleased. Cisco just wants to taste that smile.

 

“Condition number two. You stop with the lollipops. I don’t care if you want funnel gummy bears down your throat, but you have to stop – no more suckers, not here in the lab.”

 

“Ok,” Cisco nods, eager. “I can do that. No suckers at work. Easy.”

 

The smile graces him again, and Cisco sways. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep his own mouth to himself.

 

“Final condition.”

 

“Yes,” Cisco does, disobeying Dr. Wells most immediate instruction, not caring. “Yes.”

 

“Your mouth,” Dr. Wells breathes, thumbs rubbing against the tops of Cisco’s thighs. Cisco starts to tremble. “Is mine.”

 

“ _Please_.” Cisco barely has time to whimper the word before Dr. Wells is surging forward.

 

There’s no perfunctory gentleness, nothing soft, no attempt to learn how Cisco likes it or how their mouths will slide together. It’s as if Dr. Wells already _knows_ , or doesn’t _care_ , or that he’s sure that Cisco will just melt to meet him. Cisco does, slumping in his chair and tilting his head and opening his mouth, being as open and pliable and available as he can be.

 

Hands are on his chest, heavy, not so much learning or stroking as checking to make sure everything is in working order before Dr. Wells signs the lease. Cisco feels owned, immediately and completely, and he moans like the whore Dr. Wells accused him of being as those clever fingers move to the buttons of his pants.

 

“Please,” Cisco begs again.

 

“Up,” Dr. Wells says, and Cisco lifts his hips and tries to help Dr. Wells push his pants and boxers down. His face is burning as Dr. Wells settles the Star Wars boxers around is knees. Dr. Wells is grinning, indulgent. “Cute.”

 

Cisco wrinkles his nose but Dr. Wells _bites_ his thigh, no kiss or nip or slow laving of tongue, just teeth sinking into skin, branding him.

 

“I’m going to suck you now, Cisco,” Dr. Wells says, voice heavy, eyes fixed on Cisco’s jutting cock.

 

“Please, Dr. Wells, I need – I want you _so bad_ – ”

 

Something like a growl spills from Dr. Wells mouth. He tangles his hand into Cisco’s hair and pulls him into another dizzying kiss.

 

“Call me,” Dr. Wells pants against his lips, and Cisco licks inside his mouth. Dr. Wells lets him for a moment before making another dark noise and yanking his hair. Cisco groans. “Not Dr. Wells, not when we’re like this. You call me.” Dr. Wells pauses, squeezes his eyes shut and breathes heavy through his nose. When he opens his eyes again, they’re practically black. “Sir.”

 

Cisco’s cock, jutting red and glistening wet, twitches clearly. “Yes,” Cisco scrambles, breathing it into Dr. Wells mouth. “Yes _sir_.”

 

Dr. Wells pulls away to place an open mouthed, wet kiss to the tip of Cisco’s cock. Cisco moans another deep sir and Dr. Wells swallows him to the hilt in one movement.

 

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Cisco groans, head falling back on the chair. “Holy yes, fuck, _sir_ – ”

 

He tries to picture nuns. Baskets filled with bad bread and sardines on pizza. Think about the shitty punk band that practices in the apartment next to his. Anything other than the feeling of Dr. Wells mouth, so slick and warm and skillful, slurping up and down more messy and hot than any other blowjob he’s received. He digs his nails into palms and tries to recreate the sounds of his parents snoring to replace the guttural moans Dr. Wells is spilling around his cock.

 

Even the attempted distraction of pain and unpleasant sensory memories can’t pull him from the next noise Dr. Walls makes, so deep and pleased his throat vibrates around Cisco, climbing from the tip of his cock into his bones. Dr. Wells is groaning like Cisco is the best thing he’s ever tasted, sucking like he can’t get Cisco far enough down his throat. Cisco feels like he’s delicious, like he’s the grand prize Dr. Wells wrestled from the clutches of the universe. There’s nothing in him that wants to move or speak or think or do anything other than allow Dr. Wells to devour and worship him.

 

Cisco isn’t sure what to do with his hands, doesn’t want to assume the right to rake his hands through Dr. Wells hair or grip him, but his fingers are going numb from the need to touch. Movements slurred in pleasure, Cisco cradles Dr. Wells face in his hands, reverent and desperate.

 

Dr. Wells groans again, and there’s that _vibration_ that has Cisco crying out. He feels Dr. Wells smile around his dick then moves his tongue against the underside of Cisco’s cock, flicking it as he sucks up and down with firmness and speed that Cisco can’t be expected to compete against.

 

“I’m cl – close, ah, Dr. – sir, sir, I’m close – ”

 

Another vibrating hum. He pets desperately at Dr. Walls face. He manages to open his eyes in time to see Dr. Wells lean into his touch.

 

“Oh fuck,” he moans, toes curling in his shoes. He’s _five seconds_ away from coming down Dr. Wells throat when Dr. Wells open his own eyes, locking their gazes together. Dr. Wells expression is bright with hunger, deep and bottomless, and Cisco comes with an uncontrolled shout and buck of his hips.

 

Dr. Wells sucks him through the aftershocks. Cisco twitches and trembles, groans twisting into soft, pained whimpers when it becomes too sensitive. There’s an obscene sort of slurp pop as Dr. Wells pulls off. It practically fills the room but is quickly replaced with a sharp, pitiful whimper that Cisco lets loose when Dr. Wells pulls their mouths together. He can taste himself, mixed with Dr. Wells, and there’s something so heady about the sweet musk that his spent cock twitches against his thighs.

 

“Holy – guacamole.” Cisco feels stupid as he pants against Dr. Wells kiss. Dr. Wells laughs, open, and licks greedy into Cisco’s mouth. “That was – that was _awesome_. How did you do that – it was like you could _vibrate_ , or something.”

 

That deeply pleased smile graces Dr. Wells face again, and he nips at the side of Cisco’s mouth. “Experience,” he murmurs.

 

“Yeah,” Cisco absently agrees. They exchange languid, lazy kisses until Cisco feels he can breathe with the living again. His eyes drop to Dr. Well’s lap, too drained to pretend he’s not looking, and he moans a little at the sign. “Can I,” he begins, licking his lips, fingers and jaw itching to get at Dr. Wells. “Please, Dr. – sir, can I suck you now?”

 

Dr. Wells grips his jaw between his strong fingers, yanking his gaze from that delicious bulge to narrowed eyes. “Have you forgotten your lesson already?” Cisco furrows his brow, and Dr. Wells taps his nose. He goes cross eyed for a moment and wonders again if he’s in some sort of alternate universe. “I suspended you less than thirty minutes ago for engaging in inappropriate behavior at the office.”

 

“Uh… okay,” Cisco says, blinking. “Is – you dirty talking me into desperation then giving me a blowjob that nearly broke my brain _not_ considered inappropriate?”

 

“Your brain is fine,” Dr. Wells says. He moves to stand, brushing a kiss to Cisco’s temple so quickly Cisco nearly misses it. “I’m the boss, Cisco. Nothing I do is inappropriate.”

 

Cisco can feel himself pouting, confused. When Dr. Wells tells him to pull up his pants, though, he does, body going through the motions while the rest of him tries to catch up.

 

“I want you to get your things,” Dr. Wells instructs as Cisco finishes buttoning his corduroys. “I have a few things to finish up here. Meet me in the lobby in ten minutes. Then I’m taking you home with me.”

 

Home. Home with Dr. Wells, home to Dr. Wells _home_. Home _with_ Dr. Wells.

 

“And _then_ …” Dr. Wells drags his gaze up and down Cisco’s body, settling pointedly on his mouth. There’s no need to disguise his interest, his desire to own, so he doesn’t. Cisco nearly melts against the door.

 

“It’s yours,” Cisco says, breathless, and they both know they mean more than his mouth.

 

“Go,” Dr. Wells says, and Cisco does.


End file.
